


The White Wolf Experiment

by ItStartedToRain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 20:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItStartedToRain/pseuds/ItStartedToRain
Summary: When Dr. Arnim Zola gets ahold of a werewolf's victim, he creates a weapon for H.Y.D.R.A so powerful that the very name of "White Wolf" strikes fear into the hearts of many. Since then, there hasn't been a single sighting or attack for decades, but what happens when this supposedly-dead werewolf reemerges to kill Nick Fury? And how could a creature from Steve's time possibly be alive?





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[The Offical Documentation]_

**[Entry One: 14 January 1945]**

Evidence of a werewolf attack found at 0125 hours this morning. A Soviet Soldier found a werewolf feasting on the corpse of a man, the werewolf was in a reported “blood frenzy” and did not notice the Soviet Soldier. Threat was neutralized with a bullet to the head.

After further investigation, the Soviet Soldier discovered a pulse alongside signs of life for the attack victim. The victim and the werewolf corpse have both been collected. Unclear if victim will survive until daybreak.

**[Entry Two: 14 January 1945]**

Victim’s condition stabilized. Patient Bravo-37 (B-37) expected to survive thanks to a blood transfusion at 0215 hours. Further assessment of the patient’s condition will continue.

**[Entry Removed]**

**[Entry Removed]**

**[Entry Removed]**

**[Entry Removed]**

**[Entry Seven: 19 May 1945]**

Patient B-37 has officially been relocated to the more capable Dr. Arnim Zola at Operation Paperclip. 

**[Entry Eight: 21 May 1945]**

Patient B-37’s documentation has been officially removed from the general S.H.I.E.L.D patient logs at the request of Dr. Zola. All further entries will now be recorded by him. 

**[Entry Nine: 25 May 1945]**

Everything seems quite so robotic within an official documentation form, doesn’t it? I don’t see the purpose, and since no one will ever see these papers, what’s the point of writing like you have a stick up your ass? The only reason I’ll continue making entries is because a perfect timeline will be imperative later on, and I’m not going to set myself up for failure. 

Patient B-37 was attacked by a werewolf back in January 1945 and has contracted lycanthropy. The most humane thing would to immediately put a bullet in his head, but I think there’s potential here. How often do you get a completely off-the-map werewolf to experiment on? Who knows what the potential is for what this thing can do. All I need to do is shut up and listen to what S.H.I.E.L.D tells me to do, and I can do whatever the fuck I want. 

**[Entry Ten: 10 August 1946]**

Patient B-37 has been kept in a safe containment facility where his transformations can be documented and controlled. A summary of the results over the past year of experimentation are as follows:

 

B-37 will experience a full lycanthrope transformation every month, with or without exposure to the moon. Transformations that occur under the moon cause the full transformation to last longer and the lycanthrope to act more aggressively, in addition to higher energy and hunger levels. 

B-37 can show bias towards certain targets if trained by specific assistants. 

 

What if there was a way to manipulate everything about lycanthropy? When the transformations occur, how aggressive the werewolf is, who they attack, and when they attack them. If humans can domesticate wolves, they can domesticate werewolves. A werewolf is lesser than a human and they have the lack of brains to prove it. The sticky issue of “human rights” will also no longer be around because who the hell considers werewolves humans, whether they currently look like they are or not. 

**[Entry Eleven: 17 December 1946]**

Perfect. Everything’s going better than we could ever have hoped for. Why rely on a human assassin when you could have a feral weapon at your every beck and call? 

**[Entry Twelve: 22 February 1947]**

The experimentation on Patient B-37 has officially been renamed to “The White Wolf Experiment.” Over the past few months, the White Wolf has been trained to attack certain objects on command, usually with very basic, feralistic systems of “disobedience = pain” and “obedience = reward.” No different from training a housepet. However, experimentation has been slow. We only have a night of experimentation and training per month. 

Is there something we can do to change the time and duration of when the human patient B-37 becomes the White Wolf? 

**[Entry Thirteen: 14 March 1947]**

A serum that mimics the effect of full-moonlight hitting the body and mind is in the works. With this, anytime B-37 is injected, he immediately undergoes a transformation. The first attempt was unsuccessful, the only recorded change was a spike in aggression.

**[Entry Removed]**

**[Entry Removed]**

**[Entry Sixteen: 11 January 1952]**

We’ve wasted a hell of a lot of time. I gave up recording just how many trials we did, but on this day, we’ve done it. A full dosage of what we’re now calling “луна внутри бутылка,” or “moonlight in a bottle,” was administered to B-37 and a complete lycanthrope transformation occurred just as accurately as if he were standing beneath the light of the full moon. We have already begun creating more of this miracle serum. But, as of now, we’ve done it. We’ve found a way to control a beast of Hell. 

**[Entry Seventeen: 16 February 1952]**

One month later and we’re seeing more progress on the White Wolf experiments than we’ve seen in a lifetime. We can initiate as many transformations as we like, and we’re only seeing good results. The White Wolf’s transformations seem to only get longer and his behavior to only get more aggressive the more doses of луна внутри бутылка he receives. He understands his training rapidly, and he has never attacked me yet. A few assistants have been lost as collateral, however, the progress we’ve made is worth much more than their lives. 

If the trend in the White Wolf’s artificial transformations continues, there may be a way to permanently turn B-37 into an aggressive lethal assassin. 

**[Entry Eighteen: 02 March 1952]**

We’re sending White Wolf on his first assassination. He seems to understand missions and training, alongside what his purpose is. A less defended, more minor enemy of H.Y.D.R.A will do. This is merely a test run for what his true capabilities are. 

**[Entry Nineteen: 02 March 1952]**

луна внутри бутылка is the only proof of God in this world. White Wolf was brutal. He executed his mission perfectly, tearing through anything that stood in his way. He didn’t pause for morals or fear, the mission was ingrained and the werewolf would follow it. Our target was eliminated, alongside with anyone who dare protect him. Bullets, begging, threats. Nothing will stop our White Wolf. This is what it’s all been for. Our domesticated feral werewolf proves to be a greater help to H.Y.D.R.A than any assassin will ever be. 

And, as of right now, White Wolf’s transformations still end, meaning there’s no need to hide his or B-37’s face since there’s no way to tell a “human” identity from a werewolf’s body. The news can report all they want, but they’re just as powerless as every other civilian. And what’s the difference between White Wolf and a particularly aggressive werewolf? The mission is completed, all without a trail of suspicion leading back to H.Y.D.R.A

**[Entry Twenty: 06 May 1952]**

The serum is definitely lengthening the transformation time and aggression levels of the White Wolf. His discipline and ability to carry out orders have not been impacted. The White Wolf is such a perfected hidden dagger, and it’s only a taste of what I plan to do in the future. We’ve begun to store the White Wolf frozen in suspended animation so that aging and sickness won’t take a toll, especially not on B-37’s human body. 

**[Entry Twenty-one: 18 May 1952]**

People are beginning to suspect that these freak increases in werewolf attacks are all connected. Some believe it’s a government conspiracy, some believe it’s a religious figure, and some believe these werewolf attacks are just unrelated werewolves happening to attack various political figures. We ended up branding the White Wolf with a star on his upper left arm. He’ll be more recognizable like this, and it just proves that an organization has such a lethal figure under their control. And, what’s wrong with generating a little more terror amongst the general population? I think it’ll stir up some fun. 

**[Entry Twent-**

 

_The man who had been reading off the document paper paused, glancing up from the documents he had been loosely scanning. He knew everything after Entry Twenty-one, in fact, he could probably recite each of the entries word-for-word after that point. The first twenty were a little more rare to find since the rest of them mainly talked about the White Wolf’s assassination successes, which were basically common knowledge at this point. Seeing each of the earlier trials carefully documented and stored away was all the proof he needed to know he was standing in front of the real deal._

_All this time, and here he was. Alexander Pierce had spent so much of his life setting everything into an exact place, and this? This was the final piece of the puzzle. He shifted the documentation papers over to the side, stepping forward to rest his hand on the surface of the frozen glass._

_“Your work has been a gift to mankind.” He purred, “You shaped the century, my White Wolf. And I need you to do it one more time."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now THIS story is my absolute baby. i have poured sooo much time and work into him, and you guys get to see all my intricate subplots and everything i have planned >:) 
> 
> the plan is to update every sunday, but i usually have a few chapters in reserve that i could drop for you guys at random times...  
> comments + kudos appreciated, they'll motivate me to work more :D


	2. Chapter 2

The world had changed. Steve could recognize it the minute he was first dug out of the ice, and he could recognize it now. The realization of that statement would come in waves, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be swept along by the current and drowned. He always kept a notepad for all the things he had “missed,” just something to time him down. 

From time to time, the notepad just wasn’t good enough. Always a part of a fight; that was him. He was _Captain America_ , the leader of a nation and an inspiration for the troops. At least, that was what he was supposed to be. He remembered being sent out to “rally the troops” but being mocked and tormented by those he was supposed to be leading. Now, everywhere he went, there was nothing but sheer awe and gratitude for who he was and what he had done, even among soldiers, current and past. 

Sam was an interesting man. He was a soldier, just like him, and he had lost, just like him. He listened to Sam talk about Riley, and how he continued to fly, as a bit of a tribute to his lost brother-in-arms. Hearing this did little more for him than stir up pain about Bucky, and that was a topic he didn’t like to linger on. He would never stop blaming himself for what had happened that day. 

It had been nice to talk to all the veterans, both new and old, and their experiences. He shared a few of his own stories, but it was always kind of unsettling when a problem such as relevant and worrying to him in his time was regarded as more of an old legend. A handful of the people there were familiar with Red Skull or the White Wolf, but no one truly understood what it was like to have these beings as a constant, hanging threat as much as the Howling Commandos had experienced, and they had all moved on from this world. Well, all of them but him. 

One older man stayed after the group therapy session to talk with Steve about the great werewolf hysteria they had mutually lived through where a phase of pinning every death on a werewolf or even the White Wolf had gripped the world, and how he had watched the attacks slowly start to drop off before they stopped altogether. 

It seemed like even untouchable executioners had to get old and die. It had been a miracle that the White Wolf had terrorized the country for as long as it did, seeing how disastrous a werewolf transformation was on a human body. 

Steve had thanked each of the veterans for their time and service, talking for a few minutes with Sam before they parted ways. He was a little more firm on him regularly going to therapy, but Steve denied him all the same. It certainly worked for these people, but it just wouldn’t work for him. He wasn’t much of a talker, anyway. 

Steve gave a polite smile to one of the people lingering outside his apartment building, putting a hand into his pocket to search for his apartment key. He walked up the stairs, pausing as a blonde women came out of his neighboring apartment with a phone to her ear. She ended her call, noticing him out of the corner of her eye and shifting towards him.  
“My aunt,” she began, “kind of an insomniac.” 

“Hey, if you want, you’re welcome to use my machine.” Steve gestured awkwardly towards the laundry she was carrying. “Might be cheaper than the one in the basement.” 

“Oh? What’s it cost?” 

“Uh, a cup of coffee?” He said, shifting uncomfortably. 

His neighbor laughed, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I already have a load of laundry downstairs, and well… You wouldn’t want these scrubs, I’ve just worked a shift in the Infectious Disease ward.” 

“Guess I’ll keep my distance then.” Steve laughed, turning to go into his apartment.

“Hey, not _too_ far!” She smiled again, then paused. “I’m pretty sure you left your stereo on, though. Someone in the hallway was complaining about it earlier. Might wanna check that out.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Oh, uh, right. Thank you.” He said, watching her go downstairs to make sure she had left. He immediately turned back to his door, tensing up. Steve never touched that old stereo, how could it possibly be on? 

He opened the door cautiously, creeping across to where his shield lay. The source of the noise was coming from the living room, but it could be a distraction. He had to keep his guard up. He crouched down, ready to spring at any sign of movement. Soon, he was in view of the stereo, his living room, and the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. casually sprawled out across his couch. 

“I don’t remember giving you a key.” Steve said, straightening. How could he possibly be surprised? This was _exactly_ the type of thing Nick Fury would pull. Steve wasn’t exactly sure why Fury was here, but one thing was for certain: He was about to be dragged into something by S.H.I.E.L.D. yet again. 

“You really think I’d need one?” Fury said, squinting. “My wife kicked me out.” 

Steve stared at him suspiciously. “Didn’t know you were married.” 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Fury said, pulling a phone from his pocket. 

“Glad you understand the problem here.” Steve said tiredly, reaching out and turning on the light. He froze, unprepared for the sight of the intense injuries and blood dripping from the director. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what the hell had happened, when Fury lifted up a phone, silencing him. _[EARS EVERYWHERE]_ , it read.

“I’m sorry I had to do this, but I had no place else to crash.” He said, turning over the phone once more to reveal _[SHIELD COMPROMISED]._

Steve grit his teeth. “Who else knows about your wife?” 

“Just my friends.” Fury said, rising to his feet. _[JUST YOU AND ME]._

“Is that really what we-” The ripping of wood and sharp outcry of pain from Fury cut him off, an immense amount of noise and dust tearing through the room. Steve jumped back, tightening his grasp on his shield. He tensed, trying to get any read on what was happening when he caught the silhouette of a canid creature with its claws buried deep in the director’s chest. 

Steve picked up his shield, bracing himself for a vicious attack. The beast would have no trouble tearing him apart as quickly as it had attacked Fury. In fact, it would enjoy it, knowing the brutal nature of werewolves. Instead, the creature wasted no time launching itself back outside of the hole it had just made in the wall, gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

Steve started forwards, yanking the director by his leg away from the exposed area of wall in case it suddenly decided to come back. He hadn’t been able to get a good read on the werewolf, a swirl of dust and ragged white fur was the only thing he could remember. “Are you okay! You didn’t get bit, did you!?” 

Fury didn’t respond, coughing as he forced a flash drive into his hand. “Don’t. Trust. Anyone.” He snarled, his grasp slipping down from Steve’s. 

Steve’s front door slammed open, and his head whipped around, catching sight of his newly-met neighbor carefully walking into his apartment with a gun at the ready. “Captain Rogers? I’m Agent 13 of S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Service. I’m assigned to protect you.” 

“On whose order!?” He said, his hand tightening around the flash drive. 

“His.” Agent 13 said, not paying him a glance as she pulled out a device she soon began reporting in to. “Foxtrot is down. He’s unresponsive, I _need_ EMTs.”

The device responded immediately. “Do we have a 20 on the attacker?” 

There was no other option for Steve. He nodded towards Agent 13. “Tell them I’m in pursuit.” 

He didn’t have a moment more of hesitation as he launched himself from the chasm that the werewolf had torn into the side of his apartment, crashing through one of the windows on the building he had seen it jump onto. He got up and sprinted, glancing up at the fleeing beast. 

The lycanthrope ran impossibly fast, drawing away faster and faster. Steve used his shield to brace himself as he ran through glass, doors and even launching into and off of walls to hasten his chase. 

A section of glass appeared before him, perfectly placed where the upper level of the building dropped off to form the main roof. He saw the werewolf drop down, just a few seconds ahead of him at this point, and Steve smirked. “Gotcha!” 

He crashed through the window and threw his shield as hard as he could. If his angle was just right, it would slam the creature with a force to the back of the head blunt enough to knock it out. Everything was perfect: the creature had nowhere else to go, it was unaware of where Steve was and was cornered. But then, the impossible happened. 

The werewolf snapped its head back, seemingly manipulating time for it to catch the shield in its jaws at an impossible speed. It held it there for a moment, the sound from his catch echoing eerily through the city. It glared at Steve with unsettlingly human eyes. 

“Wait…” Steve began slowly, his eyes finally recognizing what they were seeing. His eyes dropped from the pure white fur down to the dark branding of a star on the being’s left arm. “I know who you are…” 

The lycanthrope snapped its head back once more, throwing the shield back at Steve with all the original intensity it once had. The sheer force knocked him back a few feet, and he grunted, securing the shield with both hands. His eyes snapped back up, but the werewolf had already disappeared. 

He sprinted to the edge of the building. The beast couldn’t have gotten far in only a few seconds. He stopped, off balance for a few moments as he hurriedly looked for where it had gone. But, despite his best efforts, there wasn’t even a trace of fur hanging in the air. It had gotten away. 

And, even worse, everything was slowly beginning to fall into place, regardless of whether he wanted it to or not. This was no ordinary werewolf. He had been face-to-face with the White Wolf himself, and his target had been S.H.I.E.L.D.’s director Nick Fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually had Chapters 2 + 3 done for over a month, but they were a huge struggle to edit and format because of the low response Ch.1 got. Thank you to the commenters I did get, luckily they managed to remotivate me long enough to post this next chapter! Things are gonna start heating up soon...


	3. Chapter 3

_[Earlier That Day…]_

One thing good about being a vicious, snarling werewolf is that you have a thick layer of fur on you. At all times. Bucky could only envy this now, as he sat, bound to that cursed chair, still shivering from the ice he had been kept in for so long. 

Bucky wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was more than he wanted to accept for sure. The man standing in front of him was new, he kept glancing back at the documentation papers and muttering things to himself. Bucky certainly didn’t recognize him either, however, that wasn’t huge evidence for change, seeing how fucked his memory was at this point. 

Bucky stared off into space, wondering when this guy would get his shit together so that he could get the transformation over with. This man didn’t have the same steely gaze that Zola and his assistants had, and the lab looked absolutely deserted, a coating of dust covering everything. It had obviously been a very long time since he had last been out of the frozen containment chamber. 

“White Wolf.” The mysterious man said, causing him to snap his attention back to the present. “I have a mission for you.”

Bucky glared at him as he shifted around to pull a photo of a dark-skinned man with an eyepatch out of one of the many papers he was now carrying, holding it up before him. “This is Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He needs to be eliminated. I will supply you with all the information and resources you need. Use whatever means necessary, I don’t care. Do you understand, White Wolf?” 

He ran his gaze over the picture of Nick Fury as the blond man began to talk about where he could find his target and how heavily guarded he was. The word “S.H.I.E.L.D.” sprung some kind of dislike within him, however, he couldn’t tell whether it was for his own personal reasons or as a result of brainwashing. 

The man stopped talking and pulled the picture of Nick Fury away, revealing a syringe of blue tinted liquid. Bucky turned his forearm over, resistance not even a question. He felt a tinge of repulsion, dreading the feeling of intense pain ripping through his body and his human consciousness and morality slipping away. But, this was the hell he was confined to, and all he had to do was live in it. 

He could feel the sensation of cold spreading from the entrance point in his forearm quickly moving throughout his entire body. It seemed to slow down time within his body, his blood cells moving sluggishly before freezing over in place completely. The cold filled his lungs, suffocating him, spreading up to his heart, up his throat, and finally encasing his brain. There was a single moment, frozen in time, where every inch of his body was pure ice. 

And then every inch of his body caught fire. The unpleasant feeling of cool turned into an unbearable sensation of burning. He cried out, his hands balling into fists as his muscle fibers ripped apart and his bones restructured against their will. He lurched forward, his body begging for more room to grow out of its skin, but he remained bound to the chair. This was how it always was, but fuck, did it hurt. 

He watched a row a fur sprout along his arms, quickly moving over his body. The bones in his legs bent backward, ripping through yet another set of clothing that could not contain such an inhuman, fur covered body. His nails were claws, and he could feel a muzzle of cruel, sharpened teeth beginning to form. He made a desperate last grab at his humanity, but he could already feel the White Wolf taking over, it pushing him back to where Bucky had to take a backseat of his own body.

Bucky’s limbs weren’t his own anymore, his thoughts did not dictate his actions. Everything felt cloudy, and his body moved with no control. He felt his consciousness growing dimmer by the moment, and then-

Pierce was staring at him with a twisted form of detached amusement as if he were a child watching an animal caught in a current struggle to survive. As the White Wolf’s movements began to calm, he drew closer to him, inspecting that the bindings had held first, then fascinatedly studying his wicked row of sharp white teeth, and marveling at the infamous star-branded mark. 

“So you’ll just listen to me now?” Pierce said, tilting his head. He paused, then went over to one of the abandoned lab tables, never taking his eyes off of the White Wolf. He quickly grabbed some sort of a metal pipe and returned to where the White Wolf had transformed. 

“Don’t bite this pipe.” He instructed, proceeding to jab him in the snout. Hard. The White Wolf snarled, but did not move, watching Pierce with ferocious amber eyes. 

Pierce retreated, satisfied. He hesitated for a moment, letting the pipe drop from his hand and making a loud clatter on the floor of the empty lab. He extended his left hand apprehensively towards the White Wolf’s jaws. “Don’t injure my hand.” 

The werewolf snarled as Pierce ran his repulsive hands over the fur of his snout, but did not move. Pierce seemed to grow in confidence with every movement. After way too long of a time, Pierce backed away, satisfied. 

“You can’t do anything to me, can you, beast?” He purred slyly, shifting off to White Wolf’s left so that he could inspect the bindings of the chair. He paused for just a moment, then began to remove each of the bindings restraining the werewolf. He moved to the other side, discarding the very last restraint before stepping back a little _too_ quickly. Pierce tried to look confident as he could, unaware that the White Wolf could smell the stink of fear emanating off of him by the second. 

The werewolf rose to his feet, eager to stretch out his limbs. He dropped to all fours, rolling his muscles before rearing back up in a hunched, bipedal form. He ran his tongue along the chops of his jaws. 

Pierce seemed to calm once he saw that the beast made no movement to immediately attack him, though he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if he did. Probably die. 

He cleared his throat, straightening. He would lead the White Wolf exactly where it needed to go, give him any and all resources Pierce saw fit, and he would soon witness the extermination of his longtime “ally.” 

“Follow me, beast. There is work to be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the response from these last few chapters! this fic is still alive and kicking, and things will heat up v soon!! stay tuned <3


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